


within the dying light of day

by skeletalparade (boythighs)



Category: South Park
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boythighs/pseuds/skeletalparade
Summary: “No bribes then.” Craig’s voice is barely above a whisper, fingers dragging up and down Tweek’s smooth thigh just so Craig can watch the way it makes him shake and shiver. “Come here.”And Tweek does, hesitating for only half a second before he lowers himself down onto his side and scoots in close, so close the tips of their noses are bumping together. Tweek’s little huff of laughter washes over his face, and with such a small amount of space between them like this, Craig could count every freckle peppered over the bridge of Tweek’s nose if he wanted to. Could count them like he counts the stars in the middle of the night, back pressed to the shingles of his roof, mapping constellations. Maybe Tweek has constellations of his very own in the pale spots that decorate his face – and maybe some other time Craig will seek them out. Right now, though, he is much too lost in the curve of Tweek’s smile, the way his lips part just enough for Craig to see a sliver of his slightly coffee stained teeth.





	within the dying light of day

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just glad that there's a fluff without plot tag, because idk what i would have done without it.

The late evening sunlight pouring through the open window paints Craig’s walls in a kaleidoscope of oranges, burning shadows creeping up and over the furniture the more the sun dips into the horizon. He is struggling to keep his eyes open, the laziness of this Saturday finally catching up to him. Tweek, on the other hand, is a livewire, punching buttons in vicious succession, twitching eyes focused on the TV screen situated at the corner of Craig’s desk. The hand Craig has in his hair, messy blonde locks twisted delicately around tanned fingers, has gone lax, but Tweek hardly seems to be paying any mind to the fact that his boyfriend is no longer scratching his scalp in soothing back and forth motions. All he cares about it is finishing this level, the one Craig has diligently watched him struggle with all afternoon.

“This is bullshit, man!” Tweek shrills, tossing the controller down as he dies yet another death, his character careening down into the depths of an endless black screen. Craig thinks that maybe his lips shouldn’t twitch with the echo of amusement, but he can’t help it. He pushes himself up on one elbow and extends his hand, fingers wagging.

“Give me the controller.” After a moment of deliberation, Tweek's head turned to face him with a calculating look, it is passed to him with an irritated groan. After the torch has been passed along to Craig, Tweek scrambles onto the mattress, shoving the comforter and blankets aside as he crawls over Craig to position himself behind him. As much as Tweek hates relenting, he has most definitely come to the understanding that no amount of fussing over this part of the game is going to help him actually beat it. Craig, on the other hand, has played and beaten this game a dozen times. He had wanted to share it with Tweek because it is one of his favorites, and because he likes spending time with Tweek doing things they can both do, and can both enjoy.

Craig hits the pause button as the character respawns, and turns to Tweek with a teasing smirk. “If I do this on the first try, you have to take a break and make out with me.”

Tweek’s eyes narrow into slits and his chapped, cracked lips twist into the adorably annoyed pout that Craig has come to know and love over the years. “That’s not fair. You’ve played this shit, like, a billion times. I haven’t even gotten through it once, man!”

His hands are in his hair, tugging, before he realizes what he is doing and drops them into his lap. “Plus, bribery, Craig? Not cool, dude. You don’t have to _bribe_ me to get me to kiss you.”

The PlayStation controller topples from his hand and hits the carpeted floor with a _thud_ when Craig rolls over onto his back, smiling up at Tweek, loving the ethereal look of him in the softening twilight. His hair is a wild halo of flames, framing his angular face in curls of orange soaked hues. The way the light hits him turns him sublime, a creature that the common folk of this accursed Earth have no right to bear witness to, even as he drags his lower lip between his teeth and mutters a self-conscious, _What?_ with brows all tight and pinched together.

Craig shifts and reaches out to run a hand over the silken expanse of a creamy thigh, exposed because there is no need for pants when neither of them had planned on leaving the house today, let alone this very room. Maybe in the past Tweek might have tensed at such a touch, but in this moment, he releases his lip and runs his tongue over it to ease the damage done, chest deflating with a sigh. Under the watchful gaze of Craig Tucker, his skin burns, cheeks alight with a heated flush, and Craig drinks the sight of it in. Working Tweek up has never been very hard, but there are times when Craig thinks it is almost too easy to be proper, that fruit this sweet has no business being plucked from the branches so simply.

“No bribes then.” Craig’s voice is barely above a whisper, fingers dragging up and down Tweek’s smooth thigh just so Craig can watch the way it makes him shake and shiver. “Come here.”

And Tweek does, hesitating for only half a second before he lowers himself down onto his side and scoots in close, so close the tips of their noses are bumping together. Tweek’s little huff of laughter washes over his face, and with such a small amount of space between them like this, Craig could count every freckle peppered over the bridge of Tweek’s nose if he wanted to. Could count them like he counts the stars in the middle of the night, back pressed to the shingles of his roof, mapping constellations. Maybe Tweek has constellations of his very own in the pale spots that decorate his face – and maybe some other time Craig _will_ seek them out. Right now, though, he is much too lost in the curve of Tweek’s smile, the way his lips part just enough for Craig to see a sliver of his slightly coffee stained teeth.

“Why are you staring at me?” Tweek whispers, words ghosting around them, slinking off into the darkening sky. Craig shrugs, entwining their bare ankles together to keep their bodies in place. A gentle hand runs up Tweek’s arm, relishing the feeling of hairs standing up in the wake of his tender touch, then it brushes over his shoulder, moves to cradle the back of his head. For as much as Tweek pulls and rips at it, his hair is surprisingly soft, well-kept despite the wild nature of it. Craig loves touching it, loves playing with it. 

“Maybe I just think you’re beautiful.” The words shock another small laugh out of Tweek, burning face turned to press into the pillow that they are both sharing. His profile is sharp and defined, and despite how he tries to hide, the way his smile widens and grows and splits his face wide betrays how happy he is.

“You’re so weird.” Even muffled, Craig makes the sentiment out, and he chuckles a small sound of his own. He draws his fingers along the line of Tweek’s jaw and urges him to look at him again, to meet him eye for eye within the dying light of day. Craig has never felt more overwhelmingly in love than he does when, shyly, tentatively, as if they have not done this a hundred – no, a _thousand_ – times before, Tweek leans in and presses his lips to Craig’s.

They flow together like water, slow and calm. A shuddering sigh as Tweek’s entire body is drawn magnetically to Craig’s, bandaged fingers pushing back the blue chullo until it falls off and Tweek is able to have at silky block locks. There is no pressure to do anything more than this: to glide their lips together, to feel the contact of skin on skin, legs shifting, to breathe shakily into a receptive mouth. The video game is forgotten entirely as Tweek gives a strong push, forcing Craig onto his back and climbing onto him. No intent, none at all, just the desire to be as close as they can be just short of crawling inside of one another. Craig’s hands roam the planes and dips of Tweek’s back over the fabric of his thin shirt, mouth wandering from mouth, to cheek, to the lobe of a sensitive ear, delighted by Tweek's unchallenged moan, quiet as a breath.

Unrushed, Craig drops gumdrop kisses all along Tweek’s chin, sweet and pleasant, smiling to himself when Tweek laughs above him. His body moves with it, and though Craig can feel the outline of Tweek’s erection pressed firmly against him, he has no real urge to take this any further. A cloying sort of exhaustion has nestled itself inflexibly in his bones, and the most he wants out of this is just the physical closeness he already has. Words are – difficult. He stumbles over them, and they fail him. But touch is something else altogether; he knows how to make Tweek feel good, knows how to get him to unwind, to forget the troubles that haunt his paranoid mind. His hands are good for things in a way that his words are not, and he is happy to have a lover who understands that, who does not question his silence, but, rather, embraces it.

His head falls back against the pillow, Craig perfectly content to look up at Tweek, with his warm face, half-lidded eyes, kiss swollen lips. He is too goddamn beautiful for words, always, but especially like this. Craig wraps his arms tight and protective around Tweek’s waist, letting his boyfriend fall into him and press his face into the crook of shoulder and neck. A pleased sigh dances all over Craig’s skin there as Tweek settles, his bony arms not even shaking as they snare Craig’s shoulders, and Craig turns just enough to press a kiss to Tweek’s forehead.

Eventually, one of them will have to turn the PS4 off, but in the ink stained darkness of the room, Craig shuts his eyes and does not worry about the future. He already has his tucked neatly against him, held comfortably within his arms. There is nothing so important as Tweek Tweak, not to Craig Tucker.

“Love you, Craig.” Tweek, on the verge of sleep himself, may hardly realize he has said the words. They are like second nature, mumbled at every given opportunity. A reminder at all times of what is there, what has been there, what will always be there. Some may say that telling someone you love them too often voids the phrase of all meaning, but Craig would gladly, unreservedly address that as bullshit.

Inhaling the scent of vanilla and coffee beans, Craig’s smile is lost in a disarray of blonde, but these words have never failed him. Many others have, but not these. Never these.

“I love you too, honey.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not crazy about my writing in this one, but when am i ever? 
> 
> i can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/disastergore) if anyone wants to come chat. comments always appreciated and, as always, thanks so much for reading.


End file.
